This was oddly like “The Historian”, only without the vampires and dusty letters. It was told by way of the same strange dips into the past which were supposed to be tension building, but instead the reminscing factor drained most of the suspense away. This is good for people like me though. My heart can barely handle recent pictures of Britney Spears in a tank top, much less the stress of old leather-face stalking the streets in the shadows. And by leather-face I’m referring to Julian Carax in the novel, not of Tara Reid.

Although, I do have to say that I’m a sucker for novels where the main character reminds me of myself and Daniel Sempere does that with lines like, “I was raised among books, making invisible friends in pages that seemed cast from dust and whose smell I carry on my hands to this day.”

Oh, the marks that being raised in your father’s bookstore will leave on you.